


Beautiful Ruin

by ignominiousfop



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Hair, Clothing Kink, Exhibitionism, Exhibitionist Fantasy, Genderqueer Character, Hedonism, Luxury, Making a mess, Masturbation, Mention of misgendering, Neopronouns, OC has a vulva, OC's FLAMING bisexuality, Omorashi, Other, Piss, Piss Play, Piss Porn, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Urolagnia, Watersports, Wet Clothing Kink, Wetting, ae/aer pronouns, gender euphoria, intentional wetting, pissing yourself but make it fashion, ruining nice things because it's fun, some minor urophagia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25811092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignominiousfop/pseuds/ignominiousfop
Summary: Ae wants to be beautiful when ae ruins aerself. Ae wants to stain aer favorite skirt, ruin the suede of aer favorite pumps. Ae wants to get dressed for work on Monday and see aer best clothes hanging in aer closet, unwearable, unforgettable. Ae wants a trophy. Ae wants luxury. Ae needs to piss.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Beautiful Ruin

Ae lives alone.

Ae lives alone and it’s the weekend and ae has nowhere to be, and ae deserves something nice once in a while. Ae needs to piss.

Ae wants to be beautiful when ae ruins aerself. Ae wants to stain aer favorite skirt, ruin the suede of aer favorite pumps. Ae wants to get dressed for work on Monday and see aer best clothes hanging in aer closet, unwearable, unforgettable. Ae wants a trophy. Ae wants luxury.

Ae wraps aerself in aer dressing gown—light cotton, light grey, soft against aer body—and pours strawberry sparkling water into a champagne flute. Ae wants to be elegant. Ae wants to piss aerself. Ae knocks the sparkling water back like a shot and refills it. Elegance does not require patience.

Ae takes extra care when ae showers. Makes sure to listen for the way the water patters and pours over the shower floor, the liquid sound of it trickling down the drain. Ae lets it remind aer of the pressure in aer bladder, the dull ache in aer clit, lets aerself squirm just a little. Ae lets aerself feel.

Ae shaves aer legs and aer armpits slowly, feels the light drag of the razor, feels the caress of the shaving cream and the soft slide when the water—the trickling, burbling, pattering water—streams over aer smooth body and washes everything away. Ae feels clean. Unsullied. Ready to be ruined. Ae does not shave between aer legs.

Ae washes aer hair slowly, feels the bubbles between aer fingers, listens to the splash when ae squeezes the water out. Ae thinks of the sound aer piss will make when it hits the floor. Ae _wants_.

Water keeps trickling down the drain for long minutes after the shower is off. Droplets run down aer arms, aer breasts, aer stomach and hips and thighs and legs, drips from the dark shock of hair between aer legs. Ae forces aerself to dwell on it, to feel how desperate ae is becoming. Ae swallows and drags the towel over aer skin. Aer lotion is heavy and smells like jasmine. When ae dries aer hair, it is longer than ae’s had it in a while, brushing aer shoulders, full and brown and gold and shining in the sunlight from the window.

The popular methodology for getting ready when one is femme, when one wears makeup and long hair, is to put on clothes—underthings, outerwear, socks, shoes—and then to style one’s hair and apply one’s makeup and jewelry. This prevents the makeup from smearing, the hair from being pulled out of place, the earrings from twisting or getting caught on a shirt. But ae wants to admire aerself, see the way aer body looks in the light. Clean and untouched. Ae sips aer sparkling water and sits cross-legged on the bathroom counter. Ae looks at aerself. Big eyes and pink lips and curves. Ae feels beautiful. Ae feels androgynous and intoxicating and like something otherworldly. It does not matter that when ae steps outside next, ae will be met with “ma’am” and “miss” and “young lady.” In this space, ae is aerself.

Ae styles aer hair first—a side part, back-combing for volume, a brief twist around the curling iron. When ae paints aer lips a dark purple, aer clit twitches at the gentle pressure, the glide of the brush. When ae leans forward to paint black eyeliner over grey and teal eyeshadow, aer bladder twinges at the pressure. It feels so good aer eyes almost flutter closed, ruining everything. Ae is in control. Aer makeup is flawless.

Aer hair twists around aer crystal earrings. Aer necklace fits snugly around aer neck and then falls and drapes between aer breasts. Ae feels artistic. Refined. Ae sips aer sparkling water again and does not let aerself squirm.

For the occasion of pissing aerself, ae has selected white lace panties and a white lace balconette bra. The lace pattern is floral and delicate and shows more than it covers. The panties have a tiny pink bow on each hip, and another one between aer breasts on the bra band. If ae doesn’t look at aer purple lipstick and aer smoky eyeshadow and the silver chain around aer throat, ae looks _corruptible_. Virginal, almost. There’s probably some kind of internalized patriarchal bullshit to unpack in the way it makes aer want to touch, to ruin, but right now aer clit is throbbing and aer bladder aches and ae _needs_. This is no time for psychoanalysis.

Ae has been saving this outfit. Ae found the thin white pencil skirt and knew it was too transparent, too short, too indecent to wear out—and perfect for someone who lives alone and has a weekend to devote to pissing aerself. The white camisole is a size too small and hugs aer waist and aer chest, dips just a little too far down. Ae looks obscene. Ae looks perfect. Ae empties the champagne flute and pours another glass.

Aer clit is so hard it hurts. Ae _needs_. It isn’t cheating, ae tells aerself, to allow aerself a little taste of what’s to come. Ae pushes aer panties aside and sinks aer first finger into aerself. Drags over aer clit on the way back up. Ae groans. Ae sucks aer own taste off aer finger.

_Fuck._

Ae thinks of wearing stockings, but aer legs feel silky and smooth, and ae doesn’t want anything more constricting than what ae’s already wearing. Instead ae puts on strappy purple stilettos that match aer lipstick. Ae lies back on aer bed, sipping at the sparkling water, feeling the way it trickles down aer throat. If ae went out like this, bursting to piss and coy and in love with aer own body, smelling like jasmine and sex, who would stare? Would women catch their breath and flush and smile, turn back to feverishly watch aer hips as ae walked away, going home to their apartments, to their boyfriends and their vibrators, locking themselves in the bedroom alone for hours, fucking themselves to the image of the genderqueer goddess who graced them with a smile? Would men look up at the sound of aer gasp, see the rivulets of piss running down aer legs, see aer ecstasy, watch aer slip a hand down aer skirt? Would an androgyne slip up beside aer and whisper “You’re so beautiful. I want to taste you.” Would ae let them, or make them all stand back and take in the show, watch aer wring aer pleasure out of aer own hand?

Ae caresses aer breasts, feeling their weight. How many glasses of water has ae had now? Three? Fuck, it feels like more. Ae pours another and downs it. Refills it and sips. Aer bladder hurts.

Ae does not wish for a partner in this moment. Ae wishes for an audience.

Ae _needs to piss_ , clenching against the need. Ae needs _more_.

Ae untucks aer camisole and hikes it up over aer breasts, stroking and squeezing over aer bra. Aer fingertips are feather-light down aer stomach, over aer hips, down the inside of aer thighs and back up. To hell with teasing, with control; ae _wants_. Ae slips aer hand into aer panties and rubs aer clit, abandoning the pretense. Ae is going to piss aerself. Ruin this skirt, these panties, this outfit, this bed. Lose aerself to the sex and the sensation, lose aer control and aer dignity. Ae has set aer own body up to rob aer of aer say in the matter, to betray aer, and it feels _so good_ , aer clit lighting up, aer fingers slipping into aerself and _fucking_. It’s crude and it’s raw and ae looked beautiful a moment ago, but aer eyes are watering, ae is overfull with sensation, and ae knows aer eyeliner is running, aer lipstick is smearing as aer free hand comes up and ae sucks on aer fingers, licks around them, fellates them.

If someone walked in now, what would they see? Ae, stretched across the bed, back arched, makeup smeared, clothes wrinkled, one hand fucking into aerself, the other muffling aer moans as ae _sucked_. They would hear aer cry out when the first spurt of urine hit aer hand, hot and wet and desperate.

It’s not enough. Ae wants, needs to let go, to come, to piss. Ae fucks two fingers into aerself, and it’s just the right angle—aer bladder spasms, piss drips and dribbles into aer hand. Ae fucks aerself harder, and more piss leaks out until ae’s not leaking, ae’s _pissing_ , hard, liquid audibly hissing out of aer as ae fucks aerself.

It drips into aer hand and into aer panties, soaks into aer skirt, into the blankets, into the mattress, until ae is lying in aer own wet spot, actively pissing, wordlessly crying out. Tears stream down aer face as ae gasps around the fingers in aer mouth, rubbing aer clit so hard it’s going to bruise, but ae doesn’t care. Aer stream tapers off, but there’s more, ae knows. Ae rubs aer clit faster, moves aer free hand from aer mouth to aer breasts, squeezing and caressing and pinching—so close, ae’s so close—

Ae forces aerself to withdraw aer hand from aer panties, dripping wet, to trail it up aer camisole—the only thing still dry, but not for long—slipping aer other, still-dry hand back down to keep fucking aerself. As aer fingers slip back into aerself, rubbing aer clit, fucking, aer whole body lighting up with pleasure, ae tastes aer own piss on aer hand, sucking. It tastes salty and bitter and like sex and—

Ae comes, hard, aer back arching up off the bed, eyes open and staring unseeingly at the ceiling, piss freshly pouring out of aer, silent and trembling. Aer ears ring. Ae tastes piss and sex and sweat. Ae lies still, still pissing, until at last aer bladder is empty and ae is content.

When ae finds the strength to sit up, the bed is soggy and wet and cold, and aer clothes are translucent where they’ve been pissed on, showing aer curves and each twitch of aer still-sensitive clit.

Ae feels beautiful. Resplendent. Ruined. _Perfect._

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first nsfw piece i've ever written, and i'm hoping i did well. feedback much appreciated. i'm also open to requests, but no promises to actually do them.


End file.
